


With the Sun in Your Eyes.

by shuujinkos



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: I made a timeline of Frank's entire life for this fic, Kaz's depravity knows no bounds, M/M, to be continued possibly?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuujinkos/pseuds/shuujinkos
Summary: But really, fuck him.





	With the Sun in Your Eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> *THAT PIC OF CHARLIE DAY FROM THE PEPE SILVIA SCENE*  
> KAZ/FOX IS REAL AND IT MURDERED ME IN A BACK ALLEY.  
> I've had this sitting in my google docs forever and I plan on writing, more, like with porn, but I haven't touched this in MONTHS and I just need to get it OUT THERE.

**— _mozambique._**  
_**june 8, 1986.** _

 

Apparently, they were meeting an old friend.

(Certainly not one of his.)

Miller tipped his sunglasses down his nose, foggy blue eyes scanning uninterested over the waves, shimmering brightly as the sun set behind them. The ever present humidity of living by the ocean reminded him of Yokosuka. Despite living _on_ the ocean for the last couple of years, and for years a decade past, it made him sick when the smell, the taste of salt, was accompanied by real ground beneath his feet (foot).

"It seems a little much to reunite on the beach," Miller murmured, pushing his glasses back up, leaning a heavy elbow on the table in front of him. "Much more at a beach resort." Big Boss rumbled in the chair across from him and scratched his beard with clacking, mechanical fingers. He crossed one knee over the other and tapped his cigar into the ash tray. Miller looked away in disdain, back towards the ocean.

_"Frank Jaeger. Age 33. Caucasian, white hair, gray eyes."_

_"Must be a boring looking guy."_

_Ocelot snapped his mouth shut with a click of his teeth, setting icy eyes on him. Miller busied his face with a mug of coffee to stifle his laughter. Ocelot looked back to the paper with a sigh._

_"An… Acquaintance of Big Boss from the 60's and 70's. He's seeking asylum in the United States for him and his younger sister, Naomi." Ocelot raised a thin eyebrow and set the file, and the letter from Jaeger, down. How Jaeger had even_ written them a letter _was beyond Miller's imagination, but people would do anything for something, better._

 _"So we'_ _re meeting up to…" Snake's gruff voice cut down the staring contest between his two lieutenants and two pairs of blue eyes focused on him._

_"Help them out, of course."_

With a huff, Miller pushed his palm flat against the table, steadying himself to stand up. It had been two years and he was wondering if he should give up on being stubborn about prosthetics. He'd have time to deal with that later, he supposed. Big Boss' eye trailed up to him and searched his face lazily, before drifting back to the ocean.

"The sun's…" Snake looked the opposite of attentive. Miller bristled. "Hurting my eyes." Without much acknowledgement, Snake fished around in his pockets and slid the keycard across the table. Miller huffed and snatched it off the table, storming away from the beachside patio to return to their room. Hell if he wanted to watch Snake struggle to try and remember some nobody from 20 years ago. Though, knowing Ocelot and Cipher, they had been plenty thorough.

The elevator ride up to the 10th floor was slow and stuffy. The only person in with him was a young girl, probably barely a teenager, standing in the far corner, away from him, anxiously braiding her long dark brown hair. Miller had been, _handicapped,_ for over two years now, and it still got on his nerves the way people skirted around him. The doors opened and Miller started, before he realised they were on the seventh floor. He looked down to the illuminated buttons and then towards the girl, who scooted around the edges of the elevator before dashing out and staring at him from outside it. Miller raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as the elevator _ding_ ed and the doors shut. Those big brown eyes didn't leave his face until she couldn't look at him anymore.

"Fucking kids," Miller snarled under his breath, tapping his crutch against the wall impatiently for the next three floors.

  
Frank Jaeger was paranoid on levels that could challenge Miller. After a day on the beach, Snake quietly assessed that perhaps they weren't going to have a simple meet up. Miller figured. Anyone Big Boss had met

(before him)

in the 60's was sure to be quite the character. It was just the two of them on this, _romantic_ little mission, so it wasn't like they could just send someone to find the stalker who matched Frank's description themselves, and it wasn't like Miller would serve as sufficient bait.

Miller was, frankly (no pun intended), the most ill-fitted for espionage. With a peg leg and a crutch, against the wood paneling of the outside, patio restaurant, people who _weren't_ listening for someone heard him. In some sheer stroke of luck, and opening the window for the first time in a day and a half, their room overlooked the patio.

So here he was, knelt by the windowsill so he could reach the radio with a pair of binoculars pressed between his brow and the window. He felt a kind of sardonic twinge, doing something _useful._ He could hear Ocelot's fake fucking southern drawl praising him in that way he knew was entirely insincere. Miller blinked and willed the ink away from his eyes with a loud sigh, leaning back from the window. He hobbled to his feet to drag a chair over. Fuck if he was going to destroy his only good knee.

He got settled again, picked up the binoculars, and squinted through the haze. A crackle.

_"Kaz?"_

Miller wrinkled his nose and tapped the radio and hummed. Acknowledgement the boss was used to, after all. He turned his eyes to where Snake was and dropped the binoculars.

_"Guess this wasn't needed after all."_

It was not Frank Jaeger sitting with Snake at the table, but the same young girl who had been standing with him in the elevator, who has stared at him as the doors shut. That weird little girl was Naomi Jaeger? Miller swore and kicked the wall with an empty shoe, standing from his chair.

"Roger that," he snapped, shoving the chair back with his crutch. He swiped the keycard from the dresser and stomped to the door, feeling unsympathetic towards the guests below.

  
"I'm sorry for lying," Naomi twisted her hair nervously, shying closer to Snake, away from Miller. "I do have a big brother named Frank and I want him to come with me… He talks about you a lot." She turned big brown eyes towards Snake, staring at him like he was the Goddamn Messiah or something. He supposed, in Naomi's case, it was true.

"Is Frank here with you?"

It wasn't glaringly obvious unless you had spent years with him, but (this) Big Boss had a certain, gentleness, about him when he spoke to kids. Miller shifted in his chair to rest his chin in his palm. Naomi shifted in her chair, eyes flitting nervously to Kaz, before nodding.

"He doesn't know I sent you a letter…" she hung her head and chewed on her lip. Snake glanced at Kaz, who tipped his sunglasses with his pinky.

"Do you want him to know I'm here?" Naomi stared hard and squirmed in her chair. After almost a full minute of contemplation, she nodded.

  
So here Miller was again, in the elevator, with Naomi Jaeger. Except this time, Snake was leaned against the wall twirling an unlit cigar between his fingers. Miller wondered, briefly, when he had started smoking real ones. The seventh floor _ding_ ed at them and Naomi led the way, to room 725. She fumbled with the keycard as she pulled it out of her pocket and looked up to them. She put a chubby little hand to her lips before opening the door.

She peeked her head through the frame before opening it fully and skittering in. Snake caught the door with metallic red fingers and Miller ducked under his arm to enter the room first.

"Naomi, you didn't shut the… Door."

Frank Jaeger was not a centimetre taller than him, with high, sharp cheekbones and eyes like steel. Despite being 33, Miller couldn't place his face older than 17. His bright white hair (and it was _white,_ with no pigment at all) was poorly tended to, with bangs halfway down his face, parted over his eyes so he could see. He had the

(most beautiful)

palest skin Miller had ever seen in his life, and it was so devoid of pigment it was practically _gray._ Miller swallowed his tongue; _why the fuck did John only attract these hot blonds?_ He started at his own train of thought. _… Christ alive,_ I'm _a hot blond._

His (attractiveness) appearance aside, Frank and Naomi Jaeger were… Definitely not related.

"Big Boss?" Frank breathed, close to dropping the can of Arizona tea in his hands. Miller leaned to the side on his crutch and Snake stepped in front of him. Naomi peered at them from behind Frank and then beamed up at her, brother.

"I asked him to help us." Frank turned awestruck gray eyes toward her, which softened as he pet the girl on the head.

Miller was, normally, the paperwork pundit, but he had no emotional attachment to these people (other than, say, disturbed, for the way Naomi would stare at him with her eyes wide). So he really saw no point in going out of his way to help. He was here, for whatever reason, wasn't he? The moral support should have been enough. Plus, seeing as he was dragged away from his work for an, impromptu vacation, he was going to enjoy it.

He cleared his throat and tapped his crutch against the wall.

"I'll be. Upstairs."

Without waiting for anyone to say a word, he turned on his heel and left. He had no idea why he even came up in the first place if he wasn't interested in helping. Miller hobbled back to the elevator and stood in it for a second, before punching the 10 button and resigning back to their room.

When he sat down on the bed, he realised his heart was racing.

"Are you kidding me?" he growled and tossed his cane to the side before flopping back on to the bed and wrestling his shoes off. The prosthetic foot on the end of his 'leg' didn't fit in any of his shoes, but he wasn't about to bitch. Kaz ran his hand through his hair, stretched out on the bed, and glared at the ceiling.

No, he just walked too fast.

  
He woke up at three in the morning still fully dressed, sunglasses on, with Snake dozing off in a chair. How on Earth he got in, Miller didn't want to know. He sat up, popping and stretching his stiff joints as he limped around the room. He shed his coat and took off his tie, slipped his belt off and untucked his shirt. Even at night this place didn't get very cold. Miller sighed loudly and didn't bother with his shoes, taking the keycard from the dresser before he padded unevenly down the hallway to the elevator.

The lobby was silent, with a light on at the desk but no one present. He made his way to the back doors and slid out, taking two steps on pavement before sinking his feet (foot) into the sand. He wriggled his toes and his lip curled. Miller tucked his sunglasses into the pocket of his shirt, bent down, and rolled up his pant legs before walking across the shore. Standing just ankle deep in the Indian Ocean, he shoved his hand into his pants pocket, and retrieved a carton of cigarettes. Miller didn't smoke, often, but everybody had their vices.

He dug around, looking for his lighter, and swore. It must have been in the coat. With a sigh, he took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, pocketing the carton and standing there with his hand in his pocket. Murky blue eyes stared out at the ocean, and he zoned out just enough to not even notice someone was walking up to him.

"Need a light?"

Miller almost jumped out of his skin, and he turned so fast he almost lost his balance. Frank's skin and hair were almost painful to look at in the moonlight. He blinked several times before hastily putting his sunglasses back on and facing toward the ocean again. He nodded, shakily. The lighter clicked beside him, and a faint orange light danced in the corner of his eye.

Frank lit his own cigarette before reaching across him and setting the tips of his fingers to Miller's jaw, tilting his head to the side. He was about to spit something vicious at him, but the younger man touched the butt of his cigarette to Miller's unlit one, and then he backed away. Miller bristled, didn't say anything, and clenched and unclenched his fist in his pocket.

_You could have just lit it normally._

"You left before you introduced yourself," Frank said slowly. His voice was measured, and something about it was, unnerving. He didn't have a high or deep voice, but it was a little _too much_ for a 33-year-old.

(Kaz was seven years older and his voice was made of venom.)

He puffed smoke from his lips in rings before turning the cigarette between them.

"Miller," he grunted, squinting at the moon's reflection. "Kazuhira Miller." Frank didn't bother with a show.

"You are Snake's—" he cringed. "—lieutenant?" He shifted his weight from flesh to plastic and sighed, tossing the half smoked cigarette to the ground and watched it simmer in the damp sand before going out.

"Sure." He turned on his heel, counterclockwise, so he didn't look, and started back towards the hotel.

"Miller?" He stopped, sighed, and looked towards Frank. The moon was, backlighting him, illuminating him into a picturesque angel. Miller's dick lept into his throat and he coughed. "Thank you." Flustered, Miller ran his hand through his hair and turned back to the hotel, shrugging his shoulders. He could, feel, ink splattering his eyes and he power walked to the best of his abilities without his cane, needing to leave the vicinity immediately.

What the hell kind of soldier looked like that? What the hell kind of man looked _that_ good bathed in moonlight, like some sort of Goddamn ethereal being? More importantly, was he so god damned _deprived_ that he could get so riled up over some, stranger, getting too close to him while looking that beautiful? Had two years of letting noone touch him driven him so far up his own ass that his dick sprung to life whenever someone so much as looked at him long enough? That, gentle, tilt of his chin, with barely the tips of his fingers...

Miller cursed as the door to the elevator closed behind him. He cursed as it took him five tries to open the door. He cursed as he shut himself in the bathroom, turned on the fan, and sat on the edge of the tub for five minutes.

He cursed as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock.

Fuck John, fuck all his uncomfortably beautiful acquaintances, and fuck his own God damned depravity. Fuck Frank Jaeger, specifically though.

(But really, _fuck_ him.)


End file.
